


A Good Man

by Envision_Everything



Series: A Good Man [1]
Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Angst, Awkward, Bonding, Complications, Doing life together, Drama, Explosions, F/M, Family Vaca, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Government Conspiracy, Humor, Lies, Office Work, One Shot Collection, Sassy, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Envision_Everything/pseuds/Envision_Everything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was attempting to fit a stapler sized piece of baklava in her mouth at the moment. <br/>Of course that’s how he found her. Eventual Bond/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Day

It was a cut and dry mission. There was a sex trader who had information Bond needed, and thus came the raid. It would have its casualties he knew, but it never really bothered him much anymore. Nothing bothered him much anymore. M had insisted that he take back-up with him, saying they could kill two birds with one stone: get the information they needed and shut down a human trafficking ring. The thought was that of an idealist, saving people while hunting to save more. It bothered Bond quite more than he wanted to admit, the fact that the saving of women sold into slavery was inconsequential in his eyes. Perhaps his resent brush with death had not done as much good as M was hoping for. Vesper had been cold for nearly a year and a half now, after Quantum he’d gotten some closure, but no one truly found solace in a situation like his.

That morning he had found himself contently cleaning his favorite gun, and a twisted smile formed on his face: target practice.

That’s what this raid really was for him. Putting more bodies and nameless faces on his high score, he hadn’t had a good gun fight in a while; M had him on surveillance and undercover work mostly these days. The sheer violence was sorely missed, and this was a large compound, lots of warm bodies to make cold.

As he stood behind the firing line, waiting for the signal, his mind drifted to how he’d become such a monster. He was no novice in that regard, he knew himself and he knew a monster when he saw one. He’d killed a few in his day, would most likely kill more. More recently he had fought a battle with one every day, it began every morning, when his eyes met the reflection of the monster in his bathroom mirror. Anger boiled in him- unchecked rage that made his shoulders and hands shake.

She had done this to him. She had turned him into everything he had once fought against. She betrayed him and made him into a blind fool.

Perhaps that’s why he had no joy over freeing these women. They were all the same- they took what they needed and left the shell of a good man behind. He never counted himself as a “good man” but he was sure as hell better before her than after her.

He heard the whistle, the signal the raid was about to begin. His brain diverted from his past and set forward to the iron clad door in the back of the compound. The mission came first, nothing else matter, no one else mattered. The door was quickly disposed of and the some odd twenty men rushed in with fervor, killing as they went. There were express instructions to leave the ring leader alive, or at least until 007 extracted the information he needed.

Gun out, eyes and ears open, the MI6 agent swiftly worked his way around the building. His bullets shot true every time as he mentally counted the number of bodies that hit the ground. Blood sprayed over walls and the gurgling of blood chocked death echoed in his ears. Briefly the question of whether he would be able to sleep tonight fluttered cross his mind, and in that moment he couldn’t decide which to be worse: if he could or if he couldn’t.

People scrambled in every direction, screams of men and women alike clouded the air and made it nearly impossible to focus clearly. Door by door he cleared the compound, no sign of his target anywhere.

As he came across one of the last hallways he heard a distinct sound emanating from just around the corner. A dull thud resounded over and over again accompanied with the incoherent rambling of a woman.

“Hold on!”

“Olive I think someone is coming!” a distinctively British voice followed by that of heavy Russian were discernible in the chaos.

“We can’t leave them! We don’t know whose here!”

“We have to go Olivi…” a shot interrupted the conversation and Bond took cover, leaning heavily on the wall, slowly turning his head to peer around the edge of the wall.

“Figures you would be the last one standing. Tell me, should I call my men to take care of the others? Attachments my dear, they pay a hefty price,” the gritty voice belonged to that of Reginold Rominof, just the man Bond was looking for. The old Russian raised his hand, gun firmly grasped there, and looked with eyes of fire at the brunette who stood guard in front of a heavily fortified door.

“You gave me much more trouble than you were worth whore,” A shot rang out. A body crumpled to the floor. It surprised both the woman and the agent when it was realized Rominof was lying cold on the cemented ground.

The brunette stood in shock and looked at the ground in horror. Two bodies lay motionless, that of the Rominof and of a young blond, no more than eighteen if he had to guess. Bond cleared the hallway, checking the man’s pulse and cursed when he found none. The mission was blown, by his hand none the less. He had lectured and lectured those going in with him that no matter the situation; no one was to put the Russian down until he was thoroughly questioned. And yet, he lay dead and useless on the ground. Emotionless blue eyes met startled and fearful brown.

She was young, much too young to be in the middle of this, and it was at that moment Bond realized he had instinctively put Rominof down to save her life. The sigh was one of unchecked anger and irritation. She didn’t move, simply started back at him with a listless expression.

“Help them. Please,” her voice had lost all courage and strength it held only moments before, but her determination was steady. Her eyes diverted back to the door with a dirty window showing a mass of distinctively female bodies huddled together.

“Wait here,” with those two words; Bond took off in the direction of the main hall. He knew someone would have something useful to open the door, and if he was honest with himself, he was going to be the one to do it. He had killed his single most promising lead to save that woman, and he’d be damned if it was a sacrifice in vain. Locating one of the men who carried the supplies, he procured a small and centralized pipe bomb. The device would easily slice through the rusted door. The walk wasn’t a long one, and Bond made little effort to hurry. Most of the building had been cleared, and it was obvious that most of the men had been detained or put down; nothing but a couple fleeing stragglers. Now it was just the process of clean up.

Just as it was not ten minutes ago distinctive sounds were clear from the hallway in front of him but these sounded much more violent. A fist connecting with flesh and a female cry in response made Bond pick up speed, securing the bomb in a pocket of his cargo pants, he came around gun up just as the blood began to flow. Two shots, one to the heart and one to the head dealt with the mercenary efficiently.

A curse escaped the agent however when he spotted the very obvious protruding of a knife from the British woman. She swayed dangerously and Bond leapt forward to catch her. He lowered her gently to the ground, blood seeping through his fingers as he applied pressure to the newly acquired wound. Another of the raid teem rounded the corner and Bond shouted out orders for them to get a team together, call an ambulance and to open the ‘god damn door.’ His eyes then returned to the pure chocolate brown pools he had been trying to keep focused.

“Get them out,” it was weak, an imploring tone that had the damaged man above her softening his gaze.

“We will. But you need to stay awake,” he responded, also lowering his tone, trying to coax her into staying focused on him.  She smiled softly at him, and when their eyes met again, he felt the very unique feeling of being seen. She looked at him like she knew him; like she saw the hurt he had been forcing down and bottling up for the last year.

“You’re a good man,” she said, lifting her hand up gently and placing it on his shoulder. Her eyes hardened a bit in sheer determination and her voice held the conviction he sorely lacked.

“Stay one.”


	2. Three Days

He hated hospitals. Nothing good ever came out of places that held white walls and dying people. He remembered when his parents had been here after their accident. He sat in a small plastic chair that smelled like latex for hours, waiting to hear any news about them. But when some came, he never wished he could be waiting in the chair again, with some hope. He remembered the faces of the doctors and nurses that came out to check on him, and eventually tell him that he was now orphaned.

But no matter his predisposition for the location, he sat in silence on a small plastic chair awaiting news. Ram rod straight his eyes remained focused ahead unchanging and unemotional while his focus was internal in nature.

 _“You’re a good man… Stay one.”_ It replayed over and over again in his head.

She didn’t know him, she couldn’t have known the things he’s done, or else she would have kept her mouth closed. But by a simple look she said six words that he couldn’t drag himself away from.

“…A good man,” he mumbled to himself. No one had ever called him a good man. M had implied it on occasion, saying that he was only still on the right side of the game because of his character. He always brushed it off, knowing the stains that his soul had kept him barely human, let alone a human with character.

“Sir,” a voice carried over and snapped Bond out of his thoughts as he rose to his feet.

“Doctor,” he replied pensively, attempting to read the man’s face for information. “Is she going to be alright?”

The older man sighed, and silently indicated for the agent to take a seat, while he himself took the one next to his.

“She sustained major injuries to her chest and spine. There was a large hematoma in her brain, and we have to wait and see how damaged the swollen areas are after the swelling has gone down. She’s not out of the woods yet, we’ll need to keep her here a while for observation, but she is estimated to wake up in a week or so.” There was moment of silence as the younger man processed all the information given so rapidly. He knew the extent of her injuries was severe, but he was hoping to get information out of her before then. She was useless to his case now. He sighed and put his head in his hands, rubbing them over his haggard face before looking back up and offering a small smile and nod to the doctor.

“I must go, other patience to attend to. Ask a nurse if you have any questions.” Bond nodded absently as the practitioner left. Pulling out his phone, he quickly dialed and put the device up to his ear.

“M, she won’t be of any use for a while. How’s it going with the others?” he rose to leave, heading towards the door when a nurse stopped him gently. “M, hold on a minute,” he said rather annoyed, “Yes?”

The portly dark skinned woman looked abashedly at him, and tumbled over her words. “Do… Do you know who… uh… who her next of ki… kin is?” she turned a rather bright shade of pink after she finally finished, and Bond simply shook his head and she scrambled away.

“Anyway, the others, are they talking?” but even as M replied yes, and began to fill him in, Bond paused before he exited the door. He felt a tug at his gut and he knew it as the long lost feeling of guilt. What did he have to be guilty for? He was doing his damn job, she was lucky to be alive! But he knew that wouldn’t work, not tonight anyway.

He found himself sighing again, and shaking his head, he turned around letting the door fall shut. As this internal debate was going on, M continued to tell him of the leads she had been getting together.

“We need you here as soon as possible Bond. Have you reached your car?” she asked in a clipped tone.

“No. Can you look up this woman’s papers if I get you a finger print?” his tone matched hers, and there was silence for a beat. When she responded, her voice held a gentle note.

“Yes. Now be quick about it. We don’t have all day 007,” the call ended and Bond smiled.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 

“Olivia Grayson is the name,” M didn’t even look up from the folder on her desk when he entered. “Her family located, though they’ve moved to the Americas for some god forsaken reason. We have yet to inform them pending the circumstances. Satisfied?” she finally turned her eyes to her subordinate. He casually poured himself a drink, but M knew better. She could see the rigidity in his posture and mechanical movements. He was worried. The older woman smiled gently; maybe this is exactly what he needed: a little bird to nurse back to health.

“How long had she been in the ring?”

“Missing for eight months, they had her funeral two weeks ago Sunday,” she sat herself in her leather chair and took the drink he offered, but put it off to the side absentmindedly. She watched as he took a seat himself and nodded slowly. Taking a tentative sip, M’s eyes never left his form. The silence was prolonged, and thankfully broken by Q’s sudden appearance.

“Ma’am, we have the information you wanted…” he took a pause as he noticed the awkward air the two had going. M dismissed it with a wave and stuck her hand out purposefully. Placing the folder in her hands, she began to debrief her agent like nothing had happened.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 

Bond was gone and back in eight days. He always had a track record for doing things fast. When he arrived back at headquarters, his phone had just vibrated, and he took it out answering smoothly.

“Bond,” he hadn’t bothered checking the caller id, very few people had his number after all. So he was rather surprised when it was a voice he didn’t recognize.

“Mr. Bond? I’m Elaina from the hospital, you asked we keep you informed of Olivia Grayson’s progress yes?” her voice was hesitant, curious and hoping. She sounded as if she _wanted_ him to want to know. He was being paranoid he knew, but he had every right to be. He was a spy after all, and no one became a spy by being absent minded, a still living spy that is.

“Yes, I inquired of her health, why?” he realized his voice had dipped below his normal range, and found it to be for the oddest of reasons. His mind began to fly through scenarios. Had she been tracked down? Did someone hurt her? Did she not survive the surgeries they had her going through? Was she dead?

“She’s awake sir, responsive to treatment, and wondering why she is unable to contact family sir. I told her you would most likely know why. Could you find time to speak with her?” so that’s why the nurse wanted him to want to see her. Her voice had a bite in it, like he was the reason Olivia could not contact family. He felt himself rather annoyed with her; an emotion much more common as of late.

“Yes, tell her I have some things to take care of, but that I will be with her shortly,” before the audacious woman could respond, he shut his phone with a snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They will meet next chapter promise! And she won’t have a knife in her. Less of damper on the conversation I’d guess.


	3. Five Days

He was pacing. He never paced. It was unattractive, and it showed anxiety, it showed weakness. But no matter his feelings on the subject matter, he was pacing. Like a mad man. He was back, he had done more paper work than he ever had in his life, and he had no other excuse. He didn’t want to see her, he had no reason to want to see her, or a reason to see her _at all_ for that matter. Sure he saved her life, but he had saved countless people’s lives in the past, and he never ran back to shake hands with them. Besides that nurse, that damn nurse, he had no ties. She saw his face for five seconds before she passed out from blood loss; they weren’t exactly connected for life.

It all came back to her one little sentence. A sentence he couldn’t get out of his brain.

 _“You’re a good man,”_ it really shouldn’t have been such a brain teaser. He saved her life from a sex trade king pen, of course he was going to appear good in her eyes, he looked like Mother Teresa compared to whom had previously been keeping her company.

Bond rubbed his hand violently over his face dueling noting he needed a shave, and ceased his pacing. It was then that he turned to look at the clock hanging mockingly on the wall. He had informed the persistent little nurse he’d swing by around five.

It was four-twenty.

Resolve, shaky as it was, began to course through his veins. She was just one woman, she couldn’t possibly know him, and she couldn’t possibly have any inkling to his inner thoughts and emotions. That was ridiculous even to his own ears.

Decidedly, the Englishman snatched his keys from their spot on the desk, grabbed his coat, and headed towards the door. He almost made it without incident too, when a very familiar lady spotted him.

“What in heaven’s name have you been doing here?” her voice held contempt as she looked up from the file in her hands.

“Paper work ma’am” it was simple and straight forward enough.

“Paper work?” her eyebrows crinkled in expressive confusion, “Bond you haven’t so much as plucked a paperclip from your desk since you started at this agency,” she had stopped walking altogether, and lowered the files in her hand to her side. Her full attention was on her double-O at the moment. And that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

“I must be maturing. Your dream come true I believe ma’am,” his light tone contradicted his glaring eyes.

“Yes, having an agent that actually follows orders has always been a dream of mine,” her sarcasm was dry and unyielding.

“If that’s all…”

“Just one question 007; have you been to see her yet?” there was very little question about whom they were discussing.

“On my way there presently ma’am” he inwardly rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Good. Play nice Bond, or I’ll have you killed.” With that last statement, M left him alone hurrying down the hallway.

.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

When he reached the parking structure, his emotions had all but been packed away. He had little intention of striking up a friendship with the woman; he simply wanted to see if she was all right. His car made the affirmative beep that it was indeed locked, and he pocketed the keys swiftly. Walking through the double doors, he looked around to the elevators. On the ride up he found himself rehearsing what he was going to say, what he should expect.

He had vivid images of her in his mind. Scenarios of what her beliefs and personality were flew by him a mile a minute.

She would be one of those naturalistic people. She would believe that all people are essentially good and that people only did bad things because of the government poising the water. She would thank him, informing him that the hideous quilt he saw in the corner was knit for him, and it was symbol of peace and serenity.

She would be one of those annoying people. Her voice would be high and nasally now that she wasn’t on the verge of bleeding to death. She would stare at him with big brown eyes and attempt to further their connection by giving personal information and gushing about his saving of her. She would be constantly touching her hair afraid that it looked unkempt and messy from bed rest. She would beg him to stay the night and keep her safe.

She would be one of those damaged people. Her eye contact would be brief and far between. She would curl up when he approached, flinch if he touched her. Her voice would be dry and patchy and he would feel a monster when her eyes fell on him and he saw fright and contempt.

The last one scared him more than he would admit. He wasn’t entirely sure if his fragile psyche could handle such a prominent hit. Everything he believed about himself, every negative thought would be confirmed the moment he opened that door.

The ding of the elevator broke him out of his thoughts, and he continued on down the hallway.

“Awe, finally here I see sir. She is in room 37B, down the hall to your left,” the nurse gave him a warning eye and turned back to her work. Slight surprise broke out over the agents face. He had expected much more pomp and circumstance than that. Recovering quickly, he strode down the hall, easily locating the door, and he raised his hand to knock.

He hesitated, fist hanging in midair, and he began to rethink this idea. Just as he was turning his head to see if he could sneak past the front desk, a crash refocused him.

Bypassing the knock, he grabbed hold of the handle and pushed open the door in a flash.

“For the love of all that is holy… I swear if… IF YOU LEAVE THAT BLOODY CORD THERE AGAIN FRANK…” brown eyes turned finally to rest on blue, and her browns widened slightly. “You’re not Frank.”

“No, I’m not” his hand was still on the doorknob, his stance rigid as he took her in. She looked pale and malnourished, her brown hair had regained some of its shine though, and her eyes were much livelier than he had thought originally. Currently, she was hanging onto a portable I.V. stand, leaning much of her weight on it, breathing a little to ragged to be normal. Her gown falling off one shoulder, and frazzled hair made her look positively mad, not to mention some residual anger in her face.

“I apologize, Frank, the afternoon nurse, seems to forget that I take walks every evening, and leaves the damned I.V. cord a mess, just waiting to trip me,” she said as she straightened herself, and stood a bit taller.

“Sounds rather dangerous,” his voice was steel and he strode forward as she seemed to list a bit to the side.

“Thank you, but I am fine. Really,” her voice was now pleasant, gentle, like he was the one attached to an I.V. He stepped back to his position in the doorway.

There was a lapse in conversation, as the woman looked a cross between expectant and calculating.

“May I ask what you’re doing here? Not to sound rude, but you are the last person I ever expected to see,” her tone was light, curiously shining through almost innocently. Bond smiled a small smile as she did not give him a peace blanket, or flirt with big eyes, or look at him like he feared. She did nothing he had thought thus far. It was a good sign.

“I came to see how you were doing,” they were all mild conversational statements that he had made thus far and he knew she knew it.

“You check up on all the people you save, or just the ones you curse at?” he felt alarmed for a moment as he recalled the colorful language he used when he had been trying to revive her. He then saw her upturned lips, and he smiled a small smirk as well. “I was going for a stroll, such beautiful things to see around here, don’t want to miss them,” her sarcasm was dry Bond noted. He had not met many women with such a sense of humor, it intrigued him. “You’re welcome to join, though I can’t promise the lions will be out today, they seem to vanish whenever I’m around,” she hobbled out of the room, keeping a firm hand on her I.V. pole, the wheels making a slight sound as they rolled.

“Must be afraid of you,” he held the door open for her, as he was still in the doorway, he smiled as she rolled her eyes slightly.

“Well, when you look like this, there have to be some perks,” she threw over her shoulder as Bond closed the door behind her and walked to catch up.

They started out at a slow pace, the silence between them not quite awkward, but not particularly comfortable either. She was the first to break the silence, her tone conversational.

“You know, if you have other things to do, which I presume you do, you don’t need to feel obligated to…”

“I’m not”

A moment passed.

“I didn’t come out of obligation,” his tone had softened slightly.

“Well okay then,” she stopped her slow trek and turned to face him. “Olivia Grayson,” she stuck her hand out, and he looked down at it for a moment. He had two options: take her hand and respond with the truth, or take her hand a lie. He could give her a false name, have a pleasant conversation, and be on his way. They would never meet again, (he would make sure of that) and she would go on with her life. They wouldn’t become friends, she wouldn’t be in danger, and he would be himself again. Alone, but keeping others safe. There would be no risk of hurt, or betrayal. She wouldn’t have the opportunity to look at him with those big, seemingly knowing, brown eyes and destroy the last bit of sanity he had left. He took a moment before taking her hand and responding.

“It’s Bond. James Bond,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to end it with the cliche.


	4. One Month

He had met her “by chance” six times at a coffee shop near her new flat. It took him almost 45 minutes to drive there in the busy London traffic. He luckily didn’t need to wait long, her schedule was perfectly fixed. He hadn’t expected her to be a woman of strictness by the way she spoke during their first meeting at the hospital, but there it was. She experimented minutely with her coffee order but it stuck to the same principles most days.

He looked her up more thoroughly after the second meeting. Was he paranoid? Perhaps, but M supported him enough to run a full background check. They had every bit of information from every digital or online system available on her.

Olivia Grayson, 31 (older than she looked); grew up with two sisters and her parents in Luton, UK until she started tertiary education in London. Worked for Her Majesty’s EPC (Emergency Planning College) for nearly ten years; broke into the game young, she was cited as a “strategically brilliant mind.” Most of her work was counter-terrorism and natural disaster preparedness. Five vehicular strikes on her record- all speeding violation, but no other criminal activity. Reported missing by her neighbor nine months ago, investigation uncovered a video of her abduction off her street corner. Currently attending physical rehabilitation and extensive psychological therapy to cope with her ordeal.

The reports he had read of the captives accounts burned his memory in a way he couldn’t quite cope with. He knew it was because he had a face to the reports, had met the girls that had experienced this tragedy. One thing he had noted in those files was that they all shared a common thread- Olivia Grayson. She had held them together during the worst and brightened their day during their best.

Calm, collected and kind, those were the words that had him sitting in a cramped coffee shop chair on Thursday morning. She intrigued him, someone so ordinary, no training, no backup, no hope, and yet she had been the rock in the storm. When M had discovered his excursions most mornings she smiled at him in a motherly way that annoyed him.

“What are we at, seven?” He snapped his head up to see a warmly dressed brunette with a small smile of mirth on her face. In her hands were two cups. She settled in across from him before sliding his now freezing cold cup towards herself and the warm replacement towards him. She leaned back, watching him with quiet contemplation as she sipped from her cup.

Neither spoke. It suited them.

“Excuse me, miss?” Olivia turned her head to see an older woman shuffling over to their table.

“Mrs. Jensen!” Olivia stood immediately and embraced the woman was a warm hug. Her male companion could not help but notice the slight cringe on her face at the contact. It was one thing he observed, any physical contact caused her displeasure. He was curious to know if it was the physical wounds or the psychological ones. Five minutes later the chatty woman left. Olivia reseated herself.

Silence resumed.

“Why did you embrace her?” The question came out and he forced himself not to regret it.

“It was wanted and expected.” She replied, eyes on his.

“But it makes you obviously uncomfortable.”

“So? Half of life makes me obviously uncomfortable, but I live anyway.”

“Why?”

She paused a moment, cup suspended a few inches from the table, eyes searching his for a moment.

“Because if I didn’t, what kind of world would we live in?”

“You think you’re that pivotal to society?”

“I am to those who care about me and to those who I care about.”

That had him mute. Their conversations often went this way. It was small talk that first time. The walk around the hospital was filled with observational comedy and gossip the patient had picked up on. Who knew the halls were so chatty? They had transitioned into the serious topics their first “chance meeting.” It was Queen and Country, moral grey areas, sex trade incline, death, murder, love, and life as a whole.

This was why he drove 45 minutes, for the coffee and for the conversation.

“I won’t be around for a while.” He refocused on her.

He merely lifted his eyebrows.

“My parents are coming in.” He smiled minutely. He had met them in passing (no matter how hard he tried to avoid them) when she was still in the hospital. He couldn’t help but laugh as he had heard fading voice. Her “I want the funeral transcripts ASAP” as her first words to her family made everything just a little bit more okay.

“You seem thrilled.” She snorted in reply.

“I will inform them you will be attending dinner every night and that they can stay at your flat.” She threw it out flippantly.

“They’ll think I’m courting you.”

“They think every male that speaks to me is courting me.” She smiled conspiratorially at him. He looked at her, now in health and vitality. Her completion had improved, her eyes brightened and face filled out. Four months had done her well. She was lovely in a quiet understated kind of way. She drew looks when she made herself known, but did not call for attention. He enjoyed the comfortable and calming air she produced in abundance. He felt himself settle into the seat.

“Why is that?” She looked on confused. He explained further. “Why are you not being courted?”

She rolled her eyes, the exaggerated look on her face a cross between disgust and exasperation. It looked out of place on such a mature individual but somehow… it made him want to laugh, loudly, publicly, _honestly_.

“My mother has been asking me that for years.” He looked on expectantly. Eventually, three sips from her cup, two curious looks around the café and one clearing of the throat later she caved.

“I have no desire to put time and effort into a relationship that is filled with the dull making of small talk. Most men, no matter how everyone claims to the moon and back that the world has progressed, expect me to quit my job and play house.” He felt surprised by the vehement words. She seemed so thoroughly frazzled. She sat forward, leaning her ribs against the table edge and began speaking in low angry whispers. “I had this coworker when I started at the EPC. He and I had an understanding, I thought anyway, and he asked me to dinner. I agreed. A year later he starts on about how great it will be when we have a home, how I will want for nothing, how home education was really the way to go. What. Great. Fun.” She leaned back. He took a sip, eyebrows raised.

“Who the fuck says that is what I want to do with the rest of my life? I respect those stay at home mothers whose dreams involve papier-mâché and field trips. But good god, I was running local emergency drills for eastern London when I was 25. I coordinated the second largest evacuation in British history last year. But obviously I don’t know what I want. Obviously, secretly I am in dire need to have his children and _throw away everything I have ever worked for_ so that his offspring don’t have to go down the street to learn arithmetic!”

She was panting by the end, red faced and a little shaky. She had these wild, burning brown eyes. Nostrils flared, gaze sharp as daggers. Every bit of mettle he knew she possessed was out to play at that moment. He ran her monologue through his mind once again and without his permission he sipped his cup and replied with as much fire as he could.

“What a prick.”

“THANK YOU!” She practically screamed it, hands flew out in agreement. She seemed so gratified.

In that moment nothing in the world could stop what happened next. The betrayal and loss of the only woman he ever fully loved. The terrors he had seen, the terrors he had committed. The moment of realization that he was a monster, the moment of realization that he couldn’t bring himself to care. The bodies of the women he slept with only to find them dead within a week (sometimes hours) after their liaison. None it dampened the honest, hearty, full and unbelievably freeing hysterical laughter that bubbled out of him. 


	5. Eight Months

It was a sight to behold. The trim, broad shouldered, blue eyed mans’ man running with quick sure steps in the park. He looped around effortlessly, making exercise look easy. He did not pant or gasp, he barely seemed to sweat, but that was not why people were looking. No, their focus strayed from the man to the cantankerous, red faced, soaking wet brunette just behind him.

“Why on God’s” pant “green, bloody earth,” gasp “did I decide to go jogging” pant “with you?” The last few words were cut off by the complete surrender she gave in to, holding onto a guide rail bent over the waist. She could feel her lungs slowly disintegrating and her heart sputtering in indignation. She begrudgingly relayed this to her companion.

“I'm fairly certain your heart is unable to sputter,” his reply was smooth, voice completely unaffected despite the distance they had run.

Olivia looked up at the man in front of her, looking just as put together as he always did. The outfit was a change however. His normal ‘business’ look of slacks or a well fitted suite was replaced by casual black sweats and a dark grey hoodie. He looked particularly normal, despite is freakish good looks.

“Well for once, Mr. Bond, you are wrong. There are few words I can think of to describe the current state of my poor sad, completely out of shape heart, but stuttering seems accurate.”

“I see that while you may be on the brink of death, your wit still thrives.”

“It will be the last to go, after my dignity and soul.” She replied while leaning heavily against the rail that held her up, trying to get her breathing back to a normal rhythm.

James simply observed her. He knew they drew a few looks, most out of cautious curiosity. What, with her huffing a puffing it was no shock that others glanced their way. He had a feeling that the male eyes stayed due to the movements below his companion’s neck however. He hadn’t had the chance to run behind her, but he had fairly good idea why he would catch stray eyes when he turned to check on the brunette.

“You need better exercise cloths.” He stated the fact outright; their relationship did not have much space for beating around the bush. She looked up at him incredulously as he said his peace. She looked down at herself and frowned.

“You know James, you’ve a real knack for kicking a girl while she's down, you know that?” Shaking her head Olivia was happy to find her breathing almost human like again.

“When was the last time you bought sweats?” He was suddenly struck by the pure and utter _ridiculousness_ of their conversation. He, James Bond, master spy and bringer of death and destruction, was asking after she shopping habits.

“James Bond, are you trying to plan a shopping trip with me?” Her smile stretched so wide he thought something would crack. “You know all you had to do was ask. We could always stop by that boutique on McArthur and 3rd. I bet you’ve been dying to-“

“I have no desire to go shopping with you,” he knew how she got when she was in this mood. Olivia Grayson was an absolute _pain in the arse_ at times. Once she found a way to tease him she followed that thread to the horse and then beat it to death _continuously_.

Eight months of friendship had taught him this. He had seen it a million times. He would say something completely inconsequential and she would latch on like a god damn leech. For a super secret undercover spy (her phrasing not his) he sure found himself in a heap of trouble and on the wrong end of more jokes than he would care to admit.

“James don’t be so shy-“

“Just buy some new jogging gear,” he slipped in before she got going again.

“ _Gear_? What am I going to be doing? Storming a Scottish castle?” Bending down to tie her loose shoe laces, Olivia looked up at him through her lashes, a glint in her eyes.

“Your pants are too tight.” He blurted out loud and then promptly slammed his eyes closed in exasperation. He was an _adult_ damn it, a serious, brooding, _hit man_ for the love of god, yet around this woman he blurted out his inner most thoughts without preamble.

She would be the death of him.

“My pants are most certainly _not_ to ti-“

“You really thought you were outrunning that group of cross country first years?”

“I…” James simply lifted an eyebrow before grabbing the water bottle he had set down on the bench next to him and took a swift drink, eyes never straying from hers. “You’ve ruined my day.” She finally replied in a deadpan tone.

“You said you wanted to get in shape, I was not-“

“Zumba! Or yoga! Those were my ideas of _getting in shape_. I don’t plan on running a bloody marathon.”

“Maybe you should. At this point you would die first in every horror movie scenario.”

“Excuse me?! First of all I should not have shown you the wonders of B rated horror movies, and second I was always going to die first!”

“And why exactly would you be the first?”

“Because the rational one with the plan _always_ dies first!” She was back to breathing heavy again, her chest heaving. They were face to face now and James tried to hold in the smile he could feel coming on.

Olivia Grayson was an anomaly in his life. What started out as simple coffee was becoming a stable friendship. He had never had one of those. Not in the foster family he grew up in, not in school, certainly not at the agency. He had also never spent so much time with a woman, a singular woman that is. Other than M he had wracked his brain for a woman he had seen more than three times and not promptly slept with (a fact Olivia often found the gall to poke fun at the bloody harpy) but came up empty handed.

They had ventured from coffee to lunch, from lunch to dinner, from dinner in public to dinner at her apartment. That one was completely by accident. (She had an emergency at work and forgot to inform him she wouldn’t be able to make it. When she hadn’t shown up, he worried. Up until that night she was unaware he knew where she lived. They had a small fight about boundaries, then she invited him in for cold left overs and bad television). From there they saw one another at least three times a week when schedules allowed. They had an understanding. When Bond was out on missions, they had been less lengthy as of late (M was still weary of deep cover assignments, something he both resented and understood) he would contact her when he got back into town and they picked up where they left off.

This was something he had never experienced, something he wanted to experience, and something he _feared_ to experience. She was a touchstone now, when the darkness got to be overwhelming and he felt that panic and terror set in. She grounded him.

“You also need a new shirt, most likely a new sports bra, if you don’t want the first years to purposely outrun _you_.” With that cheeky reply he took off again, running at a casual pace.

“I need your middle name!” It was not the response he was expecting. He turned around, jogging backwards, confusion and exasperation coloring his expression.

“Why do you need my-“

“So I can yell your full name in exasperation and anger.” She was jogging lightly again, her face completely stoic.

“I’ll tell you my middle name… if you beat me to the end of the track,” then he took off running at full tilt. The smile he was holding back came crashing onto his face, shaking his head as her voice reached him.

“I’m putting mushrooms on everything you eat for the next month!” A small part of him realized that telling her his hatred of the fungus was a mistake. He may be the spy in the relationship, but she sure knew how to use information against him.

It was then he realized, a moment of complete clarity, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O: I was waiting for a friend at a restaurant this weekend and she was late, thus I made an outline for the further chapters that I may someday, maybe, perchance, write:
> 
> 5- Jogging *this one
> 
> 6- MIA
> 
> 7-Just another (explosive) day at the office
> 
> 8- Coffee vs. Tea
> 
> 9-It’s kind of what I do…
> 
> 10- Oh I’m fine, calling to see how you are… you know while slowly bleeding to death
> 
> 11-My calling made you mad?
> 
> 12-Trope City, a date to remember
> 
> 13-Funny, how things seem so clear in the midst of panic and grief
> 
> 14-Epilauge


	6. One Year, Six Months

It had been six months since she had seen her elusive friend. Four since they had spoken. It was not unusual for him to disappear at great lengths. But this had been the longest since they had met. It was logical, he was sure to get back into long term, ‘long con’ as he informed her Americans called it, undercover operations. They had been friends for little over a year and it was one of those awkward points in her mind. They had to decide if their adventure into a stilted (he was emotionally stinted to be fair) friendship had run its course.

She was no idiot, well- most of the time. The psychology classes she took in uni and the psychology journals on her coffee table did not need to tell her their friendship began out of guilt and self-loathing. The man didn’t even try and hide it, he just embraced the fact that looking at himself in the mirror would always be a journey into the evils of the world.

Not four months after their foray into physical fitness, he had disappeared from the face of the earth. He seemed to be better adjusted, in some ways, than when they first met. However, she figured at this point it was only a matter of time before she was asked to sign some sort of binding anti-treason contract that demanded she claim her friend was a figment of her imagination. Perhaps they would cite PTSD as cause for her hallucinogenic tendencies.

“Ms. Grayson?” Olivia snapped out of her musing, nearly dropping the cup of coffee she had suspended in the air for who knows how long.

“Yes Barry, what is it?”

“You have the national conference call with Uruguay in ten.” Her assistant was the picture of boy next door. He was undoubtedly no more than five years or so younger than she, but his boyish charms made him seem of the underage variety.

“Thank you Barry. I’ll be in five.”

The day went on.

Occasionally she thought about how back when they were starting out, when he disappeared, he would simply pop back into her life like it was a game of whack-a-mole. He would pop up in one area, her coffee shop, her flat, and then proceed underground again. All in all, they had come to the simple agreement that he was a person with whom a friendship would be transient. This did not discourage her however. Not because she was scared or unattached, she simply did not think on it too much. They were friends, one day he would be there and the next he would be gone. That was that.

Faced with the reality of this however, caused an uncomfortable ache in her chest. She did not like the thought that the strange but comfortable camaraderie she shared with her rescuer had come to its untimely end. Olivia turned her head to look out the window in silent contemplation, this was what her world was reduced to now, looking out and wondering, imagining, what had happened to her friend. With the mind she had, every possible scenario ran through her psyche unbidden. Currently, she was trying to decide which option hurt her less- that he hadn’t contacted her because of extenuating circumstances or of his own violation.

“Miss. Grayson,” refraining from rolling her eyes, she sat up a little straighter as her eyes met those of Jameson Andrews. The name was almost as pretentious as the man himself.

Almost

He stood tall and had an air of superiority that was not uncommon for his station. The man was a born politician. His family ties ensured he would end up in a position of some power since his birth. The Andrews family had too much pull not to ensure their legacy was protected by a blood heir coming into a position that would give them sway in the underbelly of the English government. His cut suit cost more than her annual salary and his red hair was slicked back in a way that Olivia was sure meant to look put-together but just added to the greasy persona he was sporting.

“Mr. Andrews,” she refrained from a customary ‘how can I help you?’ or ‘what can I do for you?’ on account she wanted to offer neither of those options to the man in front of her.

“I was inquiring about the status of Project Olympus,”

“I can assure you my best team is working through the final data sets now. I gave you the modest estimate for its completion when you and MI6 commissioned the study.” These words were spoken on such a regular basis she could practically hear the automated response in her sleep.

“I am aware of the timeline. What I am not aware of is why you are not directly heading the group yourself.” This was new.

“Mr. Andrews, if you were unaware, I run the entire North London division of this organization. While I appreciate the desire for my skills I am afraid your project can not negate public safety.” His eyes turned hard in an instant. The coordinator has not been shy about her dislike of the originations intentions when they first approached her supervisor about the project.

“These simulations take precedence over any simple measure you are-“

“Which is why I have my best people running the data and simulations,” her voice was probably more firm than it should be in the present company. The brunette did not think she could be entirely blamed for it. Her last foray into the darker sides of governmental operations ended badly, leaving a bitter and unsavory taste in her mouth.  This man just so happened to be the personification of that distaste.

“I will have you know, _Grayson_ , that this position can easily be-“his words were cut off by the appearance of the last person she expected. Cropped blond hair had grown out a bit and his facial hair was straying from five o’clock shadow into beard territory, but his eyes were the same. Piercing blue locked onto the man leaning rather threateningly on her desk.

Barry came running in after him, headset still in its ‘on’ position, indicating he ran in while on a call. “I'm sorry Miss. Grayson, he insisted on coming in. I tried to stop-“Olivia stood, hands braced on her desk and leaned forward slightly, eyes on her frantic assistant.

“Its fine Barry, Mr. Bond is a friend. Feel free to take your lunch early.” The time was nearing 1pm and she knew the young man well enough to know he skipped his break in favor of putting together the data sets she had asked him to the day before.

“Of course Miss. Grayson,” his ability to read social cues had improved greatly since his first day. With one last glance around, a little nervous energy radiating off him, Barry turned and quietly shut the door behind him.

Olivia snapped her attention back to Andrews. His back had since straightened to the point of pain, his eyes no longer on her, but on her unannounced visitor.

“Bond,” his voice held a sharp lift to it, cool but confused. If Andrews hated anything it was being out of the loop. Olivia was not quite sure what kind of osmosis had occurred when she and Bond had become friends. She was aware that M, the head of MI6, was aware (was there anything that woman was not aware of?) but aside from his direct superior she was not sure who was in the know about their connection.

“Andrews,” his voice was cold, unemotional. He leaned against the window frame off to the right, arms crossed in what seemed a casual gesture. The muscles in his arms were taut, stretching his grey shirt even more than they usually did. Olivia noticed the signs he was ready for a fight.

“I thought you were on assignment.” He took a half step towards him, angling his body so that Olivia was in his periphery while he faced Bond almost head on.

“I returned this morning.” The blonde did not move from his spot, barely twitched as his eyes stayed locked on the red head.

“I see,” silence reigned in the room, no one moving for almost half a minute. This was getting ridiculous. Olivia had a brief flash of them having a staring contest, one declaring victory when the other blinked. She intervened.

“Mr. Andrews any other concerns you may have about the project can be fielded to my superiors. As you so aptly were about to imply, I am aware my position is easily replaced. However, with my extensive knowledge I would be expected to finish the projects I am currently assigned before my retirement. Please bring this up with the advisory board when you make your suggestions.” The clipped tone was met with one of the most heated glares she had ever been privy to.

“You can be assured I will relay the message.” After sneering out his response, the man took his leave. It was a dramatic exit, the door just short of slamming when he pulled it shut. Brown eyes turned to look at the man still left in the room. His eyes, however, were trained on the now closed door. Unsure of how to start a conversation after such a lengthy absence, Olivia simply sighed. Moving around her desk, she situated herself, turned towards her friend while half sitting half leaning on the front of her desk.

“Did you have a specific reason for this visit?” She finally caved when the silence continued.

“How are you involved with Andrews?” His voice still held that guarded almost bitter edge to it his few words had been laced with earlier.

“He is a contact for a project my division was assigned.” His faced stayed turned from her.

“Project Olympus,” it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Your division is handling the data sets I presume,” again, no question, simply a statement of fact.

“Correct,” Olivia stood silent after her response. Finally, blue eyes turned and were trained on her.

“You didn’t mention it,” he looked calculating, arms still tense while he stood a little straighter but remained positioned by the window.

“It was assigned less than four months ago.” Understanding flashed across his face. They hadn’t been in contact since this project began. Though if they had, she wasn’t entirely sure why it would be prevalent for him to know that. “Is there something I should know?” she ventured into the question with hesitation but an edge of annoyance.

“I'm not sure yet.”

“Helpful,” her sarcastic tone seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. She watched his lip twitch in the ghost of a smile before he uncrossed his arms and took a single step towards her. He hesitated for a moment, eyes uncharacteristically unsure.

“I have a meeting in forty-five minutes,” she started and saw shudders fall over his eyes at her words. “But I had plans of great adventure- heading down to the accounting floor and raiding their vending machines,” She stood, turning to reach behind her for the cell phone and keys that resided to the left. “I could always use backup in case I run across any retaliation.”

His whole body relaxed, eyes softening around the corners and the lines on his face became less harsh. Olivia stood up straight, intent on the door. Without turning around she knew he was intent to follow and a smile came to her face.

When they made it out the door and started towards the elevator, shoulder to shoulder she turned her head to the right, eyes sweeping over him in curiosity. “Welcome back by the way,” she said it like the last six months had not had her worried, not had her head spinning with every possible scenario of how he was dead in some third-world country, never to be seen again. She said it so that he would know that she had no expectations of him.

When he turned to look at her, she quickly turned her head back, but they had a made eye contact despite her best efforts. Her gaze was fixed on the elevator doors. The silence that permeated between them was not quite comfortable but lacked the thickness that accompanied awkwardness. The ding that singled the arrival of their ride pierced the quite.

He stepped in without prompting, coming to stand slightly behind her left shoulder as she hit the circular button to get them to their destination.

“I don’t have any change,” he stated plainly. She turned to look at him, and then promptly dissolved into laughter.

“You’re the super secret agent, I'm sure you have a backup plan,” he turned and smiled minutely, an improvement from earlier.

“I'm sure together we will think of something.”

And just like that, she had her friend back.


	7. One Year, Eleven Months

The thing about having a job within the government, was it never really ended. It was a truth universally accepted that government employees are overworked and underpaid, in every country. And so it continued to ring true for one Olivia Grayson. She had been at work 12 hours now. An emergency the night before tripped an alarm at 2am that morning, prompting them to call her. After dealing with the situation, she tried to look as presentable as possible for the meetings she would be sitting through until 5 in the evening, before going to dinner with some representatives of the anti-terrorism unit. Overall, it was shaping up to be one of the worst days in a very long time. This type of devotion to her job was coming out of nothing but sheer annoyance with those who wished her to quit.

Ever since that awkward meeting in her office when the elusive MI6 agent scared off the bureaucrat three months ago, life had been getting more complicated and a lot less easy. She had no solid proof, but when she complained about how things were spiraling at the office for one reason or another to her blond friend, his face took on a peculiar expression.  That alone was enough to make her nervous, but the other happenings only ramped up that anxiety.

Twirling her pen as the thoughts swirled in her brain, she was completely conscious of the fact this meeting was something she should most certainly be paying attention to. However, her brain could scarcely focus on anything but the conundrum that was Project Olympus. Just as she was getting around to tuning back in to the presentation at hand, she felt the buzz from her phone which was in her pants back pocket. Placing her pen on her open note page, she tried to gracefully extract the thing from her pocket.

Eyes flickering up to the PowerPoint slide on the screen at the front of the room she nodded as if paying attention before sliding her eyes down to the phone on her left thigh.

_One new messaged from: Unknown_

Her eyebrows twitched in confusion and curiosity. This was her personal cell, very few people had the number. Biting her lip, she shifted her eyes back up for a moment while her fingers slide across her lock screen and thumb print unlocked the device. Pretending to scribble a note in her book while nodding, her eyes darted down below the table, the text message application open.

 _I warned you more than once Miss. Grayson. This is on you_.

Olivia froze, her whole body coming to a screeching halt. Her mind ran through every possibility. Every contingency of how this could be connected to the odd happenings at the office and her flat. She thought about the prickle at the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched she never mentioned to James. The uptick in outsiders in her office, a million and one innocuous things that just became very, very dangerous. Her mind went to the threats made about Project Olympus. She knew that there was opposition on all sides, those fully for and fully against the project. This could be from either side. After Anderson’s visit, there was peace, no one spoke to her about his visit or the expectations of her in regards to the project. This, this was a threat. She knew it in her bones. She jolted back to reality with a hard jerk.

“Miss Grayson?” Olivia whipped her head around to see the entire collection of officials staring at her.

“I apologize Mr. Smithson, I just received news of a family emergency.” She did not have to play nervous and scared- she felt it. The eyes in the room shifted to annoyed or sympathetic after her proclamation. She tried not to show the tremors running through her limbs and down her spine. “Please excuse me I need to make a few calls.”

“Of course, please return as soon as possible Miss. Grayson. This information in paramount.” The disapproval was clear in his tone and his voice. Mr. Smithson did not like to be ignored. The ass.

“My assistant will take excellent notes of anything I miss. Excuse me.” She was gone before anyone could respond. Her hands shook as she pulled up her contacts page. She hit his name before she consciously thought. Her mind going a million miles per hour, she almost missed the _click_ that indicated her call had gone through.

_“Olivia, I’m a bit busy at the mome-“_

“Somethings wrong!” She only felt mildly bad for cutting his sentence off. She had no doubt he would be busy in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. She nearly reached her office door before she froze. She had no idea who this was from, if it was a threat from the people for or against the project. She whirled around and headed away from her office door she nearly reached. No, she needed to think.

_“Olivia!”_

She realized her had been saying her name for some time, her eyes glanced around the space.

“I got a message three minutes ago. They said I was warned repeatedly and what came next was on me. I think it has to do with Project Olympus.” She was hurrying around the space almost aimlessly. Everyone in her office was in various conferences, the ones she just came from, meaning the space was empty.

“Where are you?” His voice took on a different quality; one she had not heard before. He sounded intense, focused, but almost frazzled. It didn’t seem to jive with his laid back demeanor he often adopted.

“At the office. I’ve been here since…” she trailed off as her conscious mind caught up with her subconscious, with her gut instincts.

_2am, an alarm in the building went off, must have been tripped by accident._

The thought had her nearly stumbling, catching her hand on the desk nearest her. Without thought, she followed her instincts. Nearly flying across the open work space, her momentum had her slamming into the wall, but before she could even regain balance, she was pulling the fire alarm.

“I think they planted something in the building!” Her voice rose, trying to communicate over the den around her.

The lights flashed, the blaring ringing that indicated an emergency was going off in its high pitched way. She looked around frantically, trying to think about her next move. She didn’t have one. She needed to clear the building and she needed to find out what type of threat they were dealing with before she could plan a next step.

“Olivia, listen to me. Get out of the building, Olivia get outside this _moment_. I will be there in ten minutes.” His voice was steel, and she didn’t think she could defy him if she even wanted to.

“Okay… okay. The alarm was tripped at 2am, on the floor below mine. They could have planted anything,” she rambled on as she headed for the door to the reach the hallway, the stairwell would be just to the left. she stayed on the phone, in silence, her talking tapering off as her mind was whirling a million miles per hour.

She ran through the most likely suspects, explosives, gas, an actual fire, etc. The brunette didn’t have to wait long to discover which method it was. She was thrown to the floor in the next second, the deafening roar of sound causing her ears to ring was disorienting enough, but the black plumes of smoke were really what tipped her off.

_Bomb then_

She struggled to push herself up off the floor, but the rocking sensation was still causing her fits. Was the floor moving or was she? Olivia’s head began to fog up as the smoke got thicker. The screech in her ears almost distracted her from the wet sticky substance she felt trickling down her forehead. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as her instincts said _bad bad bad._

Where was she again? Why was she so worried? Why couldn’t she see straight? She laid there, looking for answers to questions that kept slipping through her fingers. Black little dots danced in front of her eyes, making the surrounding area a poke-a-dot monstrosity. Her head hit the floor. It could have been minutes, it could have been _hours_ but the next time she opened her eyes, the red glow that had been low was not much brighter. It did little to cut through the thick grey and black fog around her.

Her ears were ringing less and she could have sworn she heard something other than the nails on the chalk board scream. Black blurs came out of nowhere, she tried to roll over on her side to get a better look at them, but no matter how much she scrunched her face, they never cleared. Hands wrapped around her arms, shaking her, and the owner of those hands came close enough for her to make out blue eyes. She knew those eyes, or at least, she _thought_ she did. The look in them, that was not something she recognized.

Her body was being lifted, pulled and man-handled. A garbled version of her name was the last thing she heard before the world went black.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a short comprising of one-shot type thingies! More to come and much more character development promise! I aim to escape Mary-Sues but Lord knows I might fail.


End file.
